The Neuronic Reaper

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

You invite me to a corner —

you say I should have arrived sooner.

I’m masked with morphine,

but you spread like a tumor.

You start sharing your porn flicks,

as your fingers reach deeper.

My knees are in your ribcage,

as you hurt me to a stupor.

You summon your demons,

as the cliff grows steeper.

They arrive with trumpets,

smudged with lipstick,

famished and homesick,

polished with humor.

We march to their fanfare,

are we marching to your funeral?

You ask if I can see God,

but I’m blinded with fever.

Your predatory intrusions

are a neuronic reaper.

My mass is heavy,

my trajectory translunar.

I’m as sick as your needle,

but I should have arrived sooner.